Jamie Harley

Let me begin by saying that I love Celine Dion’s music, which has provided the score for some very important times and events in my life. I love her voice. I’d heard good things about this documentary and decided to give it a watch. I am also a trained psychic with 30 years of experience. I couldn’t watch the whole thing because every instinct I have told me this woman was lying about her condition. I was also struck by her intense self-pity. In the guise of trying to convince us she’s suffering, she seems to be all she thinks about. From her thousand dollar pajamas with jewelry adorning the pockets, to the casually tossed 30k Birkin on the floor, to the nauseating warehouse of her possessions, I found myself cringing at her deep sense of entitlement. I saw little to none of the disease she claims to have, except that staged for our consumption. I saw no interest in helping the many others without her resources to combat the condition. She was not close with her boys, who appear to live in an elaborate techno-cosm designed to distract them from the fact that their parent is so wrapped up with herself that she has no time for them. Her poor dog was neglected and overweight. And she gave a Florence Nightengale performance about poor Celine. Tonight she opened the Olympics in perfect voice. I think Ms. Dion may have a poorly-disguised Valium addiction she’s trying to parlay into public sympathy.